Thanks
by lotchness
Summary: Season 1. Anger and hurt are not the only things that Sam feels. And maybe he hasn't lost everything.


**Thanks**

Set Season 1. The good ol' days. Please see author's note below. I promise it's short.

I'm really sorry I couldn't figure out the spacing. Will correct it soon.

* * *

Sam stomped away from Dean, his body taut with annoyance. Why couldn't Dean understand his urgency, his desperation to find dad? Couldn't he see how important it was? He didn't expect Dean to comfort him, give him verbal support, or heck, even a hug. He knew Dean was just not built that way. But the least he could do was try harder to find their missing father, couldn't he?

He didn't want to show any weaknesses, any emotions… and it was just so… _hard_. His older brother never tried to pry though, not once. Never asked if he needed to talk or anything that amounted to being chick-flick. Exactly how Sam wanted it, because he couldn't face it now and knew he'd lash out if Dean tried to talk. But it was all mixed emotions because the indifferent façade hurt just as much prodding his wounds up would.

He was angry with his father too. For not being there when he needed help with his school work, for not being there when he'd have nightmares, for not being there when he graduated, for not being there when he entered the massive grounds of Stanford all alone, for not being there when he'd cry from homesickness, for not being there when his girlfriend burnt on the ceiling and he felt her warm blood on his forehead… _for not being a father_.

He heard Dean's reluctant, weary footsteps follow him to their room but didn't glance back. He took out his laptop and sat atop his bed, trying his best to ignore Dean.

Dean sighed and looked at Sam's fingers flying all over the keyboard. After a few minutes he grew more tired and gave up trying to get a rise out of Sam by staring at him, it wasn't working. He sat on a rickety old wooden chair and leaned forward, clearing his throat.

"You're giving me the silent treatment?"

No answer.

"Look, Sam… I want to find dad too, I really do, but… we can't ignore the things that show up in front of us. We can't deny these people the help they can get from us."

Sam continued to work on his laptop, apparently unaffected. Not one false move, not one hesitant finger, not a little break in the rhythm.

Dean leaned back and cursed the uncomfortable chair, having no other way to swear in his mind.

"Sam, come on… man, I'm sorry I didn't ask you before I took the job. I should have, I know that… but this family is really desperate and I didn't want to ask you and-"

"And what, be refused by your heartless, selfish brother?"

The venom in Sam's voice surprised Dean and left him flailing for the words.

"I wasn't going to say that."

And he really didn't, but he was not sure exactly what he was going to say either. He messed things up before and now even his attempt at peace making was going down like the Titanic. It seemed to him that he was getting quite good at that, messing things up that is.

Sam turned his bitter eyes back to the screen and furiously typed away. Dean kept sitting there, hoping he'd be struck by a sudden inspiration and say the right things this time. He waited in vain.

"So you're going solve it by not talking to me? That's childish Sam, stupid even."

Sam's expression darkened and he looked up. "Piss off Dean… You don't- you don't understand, okay? So quit talking like you do."

"I know, but you're not okay, man and I'm just trying to help…" Dean said, trying his best to sound rational and calm.

"Well then leave me alone 'cause that's about the only help you can do without screwing up." He hissed. His body tense, poised to get up and strike if need be.

Dean quietly got up at that, feeling inadequate at handling Sam in that state and hating himself for it.

"I'm sorry… guess I've been doing things the wrong way… but you gotta believe me man, it's not that I don't understand… I do. I want to find him too."

"Oh yeah? I am having a hard time believing that… all you do is keep finding hunts… keep going off course and all the while dad's trail is going cold." Sam had stood up and finished his tirade with a wild gesture of his hands.

"I don't keep finding hunts. It finds me… you think I'm stalling on purpose?" Dean advanced a step towards Sam, a flash of exhausted patience showing.

"You don't want to know what I think…"

Dean flinched a little at Sam's accusation and the cold fury in his voice.

"Why would I do this to you on purpose? Sam, listen to yourself and tell me if you're making any sense… why would I not want to find dad? I went to you that day to get your help in finding him, remember?"

"The night you made me leave Jess alone, yeah I remember." Sam spat, his expression so dark that Dean backed away from it as much as at the blame. _Did Sam blame him for Jessica's death?_

"Sam I didn't know what was going to happen… if I'd known, I would have protected her… died trying to save her."

"_Died trying to save her?_ Noble and brave words Dean. Tell that to the next girl you're going to sleep with, she just might believe you." he shouted.

Dean suddenly found his throat go dry, everything spun around him for an infinite second.

"Look, this … this is about stopping other people from feeling what you are right now. But you wanna sit here feel sorry for yourself, be my guest." He yelled back. Then he spun on his heels and almost ran out on Sam.

Sam stood there shock still for quiet a few minutes before he tore his eyes away from the open door, the deserted lot… at the emptiness that Dean left behind. With the residual anger still gushing around in his system, he tightened his jaw and returned to his position on the bed, laptop on his folded legs.

He aimlessly searched and surfed for sometime before the letters zoned out in the white screen and the graphics ran into each other to form blurs of unidentifiable colours and distorted shapes. He rubbed at his eyes, confused, and the screen cleared up and the cause lay in a splatter on the keyboard.

He wiped them off the keys with his finger and blinked as the red haze of anger lifted and he could truly see again. He remembered the harsh words he'd thrown at Dean… the way Dean's eyes had shone with hurt and pain… and realization came to him, along with a twinge of pain behind his eyes. He buried his head in his hands and grunted.

The words he'd said were… unforgivable. No way things would ever be same between them. Actually, he'd be surprised if Dean came back at all, abandoned him. It's what he deserved. Dean had been nothing but understanding the past few weeks, had tolerated his snaps, mood swings, odd behaviour… everything. And all he gave in return was ingratitude and cruelty.

The thoughts swirled in his mind, fed fuel to his already blossoming headache. Which wasn't that unexpected, what with the hours in front of the computer and the few hours of sleep that he'd gotten throughout that week.

He needed to talk to Dean, tell him how much sorry he was. He took out the cell and quick dialed Dean's number.

"Hey, it sucks for you but you'll have to do with my voicemail. Just leave a message and I'll get back to you."

A beep tone sounded and Sam torn the phone away from his ear and stared at it in anger. Then with a frustrated yell, pitched it hard against the wall. It just bounced from the wall unharmed and dropped innocently to the carpeted floor.

Hours later, but not too late… Dean slowly walked drove back to the motel. He'd planned to take out the hurt out by drinking himself to oblivion and maybe if he got lucky, pick a fight and beat the daylights out of someone. But some sensible part of his brain had forced him to sip at the same beer bottle for hours. And now he was returning to his bitter younger brother totally sober. And as he plucked the keys out and climbed out of his car, he wondered if lying passed out in some street, drunk and beaten, would have been better than facing Sam again.

He absently took the key card out as he passed the corridor, to reach there and find the door open. And the room dark.

"Sam?"

He flipped on the bedside lamp and found Sam half slumped against the headboard, sleeping. He tiptoed to him and carefully adjusted him so that he was completely horizontal and pulled up the cover to his chest. Sam slept on, unperturbed, exhaustion leaching away any form of consciousness.

Dean sighed and brushed his fingers lightly over his head.

"I'm sorry I… it's just you're so complicated you know, I can't read you… can't understand whatever it is that's going inside your head. Wish you'd just tell me."

He whispered, the words hardly audible. Sam frowned in his sleep and then relaxed. Dean smiled ruefully and removed his hand from Sam's head.

Then, he opened his shoes and shirt. Fluffing the pillow, he lay back in his own bed and switched off the lamp. He'd closed his eyes for not more than a couple of minutes when he sensed a change in the breathing pattern of his brother. He peeled his sleep heavy eyes open and turned his head towards his brother's side.

Sam's eyebrows were drawn together, face contorted, and his limp hands twitched. Dean slowly sat up.

Sam progressively grew more agitated, his head jerking sideways imperceptibly, sweat glistened above his upper lip and ran down from his forehead. Then his face twisted more and he whimpered.

Dean flung off his covers and swung out his legs to rest on the floor.

"Sammy?"

Sam's torso twisted away and his fists clenched. "No… no… "

The whimpers were now louder, the words recognisable and the significance painfully clear. Sam was having a nightmare… Dean could bet his last dollar that he was reliving the dying moments of his girlfriend.

Dean shot up from his bed and leaned over Sam.

"Sam? Sammy? Wake up… come on."

Dean caught Sam's weakly flailing arms and forced them down. Then he lightly tapped Sam's cheeks.

"Come on, wake up…"

Sam's eyes suddenly opened wide, his mouth half-open in a silent scream.

"Hey…" Dean smiled a little, "You were just having a nightmare… you're okay now?"

Sam blinked, the tears in his eyes ran down the sides of his face, and closed his mouth to swallow past his dry mouth.

"Sammy?"

Sam heard the concern and hastily wiped his eyes.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

And then he flung open his covers and with the speed of a frightened gazelle, darted into the bathroom and locked the door before Dean could say anything.

Dean waited till Sam came out of the bathroom, all traces of tears gone and face nervously trying to be neutral.

"You're okay?"

"Yup."

Sam shuffled to his bed.

"Nightmare?"

"Just a dream."

He lifted the covers and slid his long legs beneath them.

"About Jess?"

"No. It was nothing."

He laid down on his side, facing away from Dean. The lies were hard enough, saying them to Dean's face was impossible.

Dean came and sat on Sam's bed, near his waist.

"What's going on Sam?"

Sam tensed away from Dean, scared for god knows what reason.

"Sam? Tell me what the dream was about."

"Why are you talking to me?"

"What?"

"You should be angry with me… the stuff that I said… why aren't you angry with me?"

"Just am not."

"You should be… you should yell at me, be mad."

"Do you want me to? Is that why you said it, to provoke me?"

"Maybe… I don't know." Sam closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, wishing the conversation to stop. Wanting Dean to stop with the gentle voice and concerned questions.

"Come on buddy, you're smarter than that… tell me why you think you said it."

"I'm sorry I said them Dean, I really am… didn't mean any of it…"_but please leave me alone now… _

"It's okay… I know you couldn't help it. Not your fault."

Sam scrunched up his eyes tight, _knowing_ that it was entirely his fault.

"Yeah, I know." he lied.

Dean sat there for a long time, not fooled by Sam's quiet breathing and closed eyes. Eventually he felt his own eyes droop with sleep, his lethargic neck not able to hold his head straight anymore. He rubbed his eyes trying to stay wake for Sam's sake, knowing that Sam wouldn't be able to go back to sleep that night.

"You should sleep."

The quiet voice almost made him jump. Sam rolled over and faced Dean.

"I'm not sleepy."

Sam shook his head, "Don't do this Dean."

"Do what?"

"This… concern, this-this… just don't lose sleep on my account okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't have to and because I don't deserve it."

Dean rolled his neck, easing the kink, tired now more than in one sense.

"You're my brother, Sam… or have you forgotten it?" he pulled in a deep breath and looked away from Sam, "This is what I do… or supposed to do, anyway. You, on the other hand, are supposed to trust me, lean on me… and let me help you… you get that?"

Sam nodded.

They had been separate for so long that he'd _had_ actually forgotten what having a brother meant. He was slowly relearning, though.

"I get it Dean… now go to sleep. Makes no sense for both of us to be awake."

"What about you?"

"I'll be okay."

"Really?" Dean raised his eyebrows disbelieving.

"I can't- can't go back to sleep now. But I'll be okay, I promise."

"Fine."

Dean went back to his bed and just before his eyes closed, Sam spoke up.

"Dean?"  
"Yeah."

"I didn't mean those things I said. If anyone's to blame it's me. Never you."

"What do you mean, you're to blame?"

"Nothing. I just meant to apologise."

"Hey, it's okay man…you just…"

Sam waited for a full minute for Dean to complete his sentence. Then he heard a soft snore and chuckled, shaking his head.

Morning came with a rush of coffee and hurried research over their latest hunt. The previous night brought some sort of peace between them, yet remained unspoken.

After gathering enough information, they both got quick showers and breakfast, ready to head out.

Dean loaded the weapons bag in the trunk and came back to find Sam engaged in a now familiar ritual of sitting hunched in his bed, staring at his open wallet.

Dean hesitated, knowing it was his brother's extremely private moment,

"Uh, Sammy? I loaded the stuff and uh… I'll be waiting in the car…"

He turned to go and stopped at Sam calling his name. He turned back to find Sam standing, wallet in one hand, eyes red and chin quivering.

"Yeah Sam?" he stepped nearer to his brother.

Sam looked down, something akin to shame crossed his face before he threw his arms around his brother. Shocked and scared that something had gone wrong, Dean tried to extricate himself to get a look at Sam's face. But Sam resisted.

"Sammy, what?" he asked, absolutely bewildered.

"Please… just- just one moment… just this once…" Sam's muffled and thin voice came.

Dean carefully put one hand on his back and the other on his head… He could feel the almost violent trembling, how his chest expanded and contracted irregularly, how the suffering almost passed on to him through the physical contact.

"Sammy…"

"Please…"

"No, its okay, its okay. I'm not going." Dean assured as Sam trembled against him, heard him stifle the sobs, swallow back the tears.

After a while, Sam's trembling eased, his breathing evened out. Slowly he let go of the bone crushing embrace, head low, ears red… clearly embarrassed.

Dean ducked his head to get a look, "Better?" he asked, his voice gentle and gruff at the same time.

Sam looked up a little, revealing startlingly dry eyes. _Sam had not cried_, Dean thought, feeling his heart break a little at that.

"Yes. Thanks." Sam answered, his face still flushed and embarrassed but his eyes lighter.

Dean's gut eased a bit at that and gave a tiny smile.

"Anytime Bro… ready?"

Sam straightened and put his wallet back in pocket, "Always."

* * *

A/N: Hello there... if anyone's there.

I wrote this a loooong time back. I used to write then. It was crappy stuff, but atleast I wrote. I haven't put down a word for years now. I found these old attempts pitifully languishing on my home PC when I went home during my vacations.

So, here it is. Unedited. Raw. Probably puke inducing(I'm sorry...go smell a lemon or something. And take ondansetron). I thought I owed my old, carefree self this. I might post some more of my old stuff.

If you feel like it, please leave a review. It would mean a lot! (I might be late to reply though because my exams start on 18th.)

Thank you

~Ritu


End file.
